


But I Ain't that Lonely Yet

by dwarrowkings



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, clearly i am insane, sexbot au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/dwarrowkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad buys a Tinkerbot. It's not a tinkerbot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But I Ain't That Lonely Yet

Brad’s having trouble keeping up with the sheer volume of shitty hoverbikes he’s getting into the shop lately- fucking defective retarded pieces of shit- so he buys a secondhand Tinkerbot from one of Poke’s black market people. They’re generally cheaper, he doesn’t have to teach them, and only the high-end ones have personalities.  
Mostly, they don’t even look human- they don’t need to unless they’re not for show or sex, but they’re useful as fuck, so Brad is willing to shell out a couple thousand bucks for one instead of hiring a real person to do the job.  
When he opens the box, though, this isn’t what he was expecting. Tinkerbots don’t have skin or tattoos or eyebrows, but this one does. He’s got pants on, which Brad didn’t think to not expect, because he was expecting something that looked more like C3PO instead of a guy in a band.  
His eyes are closed, synthetic eyelashes fanning across rubberized plastic that is manufactured to look and feel like skin- some say it tastes like skin too, but Brad doubts that they could quite manage it, not that he really cares; he’s not going to be licking his Tinkerbot anytime soon.  
It takes Brad a second to realize that it isn’t on, to wonder how the fuck to turn it on- he is not turning it on if it means that he’s got to shove his fingers in awkward places like that one anime that Manimal told him about- but there’s a seam on the underside of his forearm, about two thirds of the way up from his wrist. It bunches when he prods at it, and inside is what looks like an extendable cord and a switch.  
He presses the button, and there’s a low hum, not one that Brad would hear if he wasn’t listening. Its- his- eyes open and they look sleepy but also eerily aware of everything. Oh right. Robot. It’s disconcerting to know that while the processors behind those eyes are taking in everything, they’re not actually responding to it in ways that a normal person would. It’s a catalogue of inventory instead of a response to stimuli. He nearly misses the skin on his arm folding back into place and sealing seamlessly with the rest of his arm.  
Brad gets the feeling that he really is responding, but not the way that Brad expects or even in a way he’s capable of understanding.  
He feels kind of like a creep, just staring at him and not saying anything, but really, he’s not a person, so Brad doesn’t have to make an effort at all. Or he wouldn’t if the thing would stop looking at him like a kicked puppy.  
“Hi.” He says, he figures that’s enough until- wait- “I’m Brad.”  
“Hello Brad.” It says in its synthetically created voice. It doesn’t sound synthetic. It sounds like there are lungs and vocal chords and breath behind it. This is quite possibly the stupidest thing that Brad has ever thought.  
“That was an introduction. I know you’re a robot, but you do know proper etiquette right? When someone introduces themselves to you, you introduce yourself back.” Brad is being polite, okay?  
“I don’t have a name.” It looks put off, as much as a robot that doesn’t have the capability for feelings can look put off. His dark hair gleams in the dimly lit shop.  
“You have to have a name.”  
“My previous owner did not require for me to have one. She said she wanted me to be quiet in a corner until she required me.” And now, that is just wrong. A voice like this should be heard. It’s not the greatest voice, but it’s smooth and rough at the same time. Great, Brad is attracted to a robot.  
Fuck. His. Life.  
“Well, if you’re going to work here, you’re going to need a name.” Back to business. He can ignore it. Fucking your employees, even if- especially if- they’re robots is bad business. Or something. Shit.  
“Okay. What is my name then, Master?” If robots could look mischievous he is sure that this one is right now. He breathes out heavily though his nose in frustration.  
“It’s not my job to name you. It’s your name. You are not my child; I cannot inflict any stupid name I want on you. There must be some name that you want, that you overheard or some shit?” Brad sounds like he’s pleading now, which is ridiculous.  
For the first time, he looks shy. His posture hasn’t really changed since Brad turned him on, but his eyes are weirdly expressive. For the billionth time in two minutes, Brad has to remind himself that he’s talking to a robot. This is a bot. They don’t eat, they don’t sleep, they don’t want things like humans want. They know only what they are programmed, want only what they’re told to want. In many respects, they’re like small children who never learn or get bigger.  
But this one, apparently, does want weird things.  
“I want my name to be Ray.” It says. Normally, they want weird names, combinations of letters and numbers that symbolize some weird programmer or code or something that makes sense to their system. Brad sighs.  
“Alright, Ray.” He says, testing it out. It isn’t as bad as he’d thought it was going to be. “What do you know about hoverbikes?”  
Ray’s eyes go wide and blank for a moment, and he says “What would you like me to know?”  
He just accessed a remote server with the circuit board of his brain to download everything he could about hoverbikes. Brad tries very hard not to find that hot. “Do you think you could fix them?”  
Ray smiles for the first time. “Yes.” It’s weird, because bots typically embody beauty- and things people find beautiful are stupidly similar. People like soft skin and symmetrical features and expressive eyes and good teeth. Ray only has a handful of these qualities. Brad is sure that his skin is soft- they make it that way for a reason, and his eyes are almost freakishly expressive, which Brad can tell from five minutes of interaction with him, but he’s not really classically beautiful. His nose isn’t quite straight enough, like it’s been broken, and his dimple is only on one side. His teeth are also far from the square, perfect teeth that most bots have. Whoever made him, made him to the exact specifications of someone- probably someone who died- and someone very rich wanted him replaced.  
Brad is strangely sad for a moment, for a reason he can’t quite define, and angry for reasons he could.  
“Well then,” he says, pushing both down, “let’s make some money.”

\--

Brad isn’t really surprised that he can fix the hoverbikes. What does surprise him is that he can also fix the shitty ass Harley he’s been tinkering with for years, the radio that Brad had given up on, that only caught country stations- out of spite, he was sure- and the leaky faucet in the kitchen.  
He does not, on first sight however, like Nate, the owner of the bookshop next door. Brad thinks he almost growls when Nate first came in, carrying some book or another for Brad to look at. Nate mostly laughs at him when he just mumbles curses under his breath. Brad doesn’t catch many of them, but most of them are horrible ones he must have learned from Poke. Brad catches “sandy haired harlot” by sheer accident and laughs aloud. Ray is truly ridiculous.  
The book is something about bikes in the early 21st century, which Nate figured Brad would like, since he was trying to fix up that antique Yamaha for himself, and that Harley for shits and giggles.  
Just to see what he big deal used to be.  
He catches a very vivid description of what Ray would do to Nate’s testicles after he’d removed them- fry them with butter substitute, salt, pepper, and a little cayenne, and then feed them to Poke’s pit bull. He had to be joking.  
He wasn’t. “I don’t like Nate.” Ray says, straightforward for once. “I don’t like the way he smells.”  
“Ray, you don’t have olfactory sensors.”  
“Yes I do. I don’t like him. He smells like he’s a part of NAMBLA and he wants your tiny virgin ass.”  
Which, what?  
“Ray, that doesn’t even make sense. NAMBLA doesn’t have a smell.”  
“It’s a metaphor, jackass. You’d think that Aryan, educated fucks like yourself and Nate would understand.” Ray sounds inexplicably miffed.  
Brad lets the conversation drop. Let Ray have his weird robot sulk.

–

Ray curses at Nate, louder and more offensive each time, until Walt comes in with him. Ray’s eyes get large; he cocks his head to the left and says, “Huh.” Something has just transpired, and Brad isn’t entirely sure that Nate didn’t plan it.  
“Ray,” Nate says, smiling a little, “This is Walt.” Ray smiles at Walt. He smiles at Nate for the first time ever. Brad has previously not had an opinion on Walt, the guy who helps Nate out with his bookstore next door, but now Brad likes him. Brad wants him to come with Nate every time because Ray doesn’t ever smile at him like that.  
Maybe Brad wants the opposite of that. Walt should never come over. Brad wants, for crazy, stupid reasons, to be the only person to make Ray smile like that. Shit.  
Walt comes over a lot after that and Ray lights up every time he does. Walt will lean over whatever Ray’s working on, and ask questions, and Ray will answer them, rattling off how he’s fixing the thrust manifold or the turbine of this bike or that.  
Brad tells himself not to be jealous.  
It doesn’t work.

–

Brad is overhearing this conversation, so he’ll never actually admit to having heard it. He doesn’t know what to do with it, anyway, so.  
“But can’t you just say—“ Ray cuts Walt off.  
“I can’t, Walt. I thought at first I could, but I can’t and now it’s too late.” Ray sounds forlorn. Brad wants to punch whoever is making him feel that way in the face.  
“It isn’t, Ray. I see the way he looks at you.” Walt says, and who could they be talking about? He can’t see either of their faces, because they’re in the kitchen and he was rummaging behind the parts counter to see if they had the thermal rig for this stupid old-model bike, when he’d heard Walt speak.  
“It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t work, okay Walt? Let it go. I’ll be fine.” Ray sounds like he sighs, and Brad strains to hear the next part. “Thanks, Walt.” His voice is small and muffled. Walt probably hugged him.  
A million thoughts spin in Brad’s brain, and none of them make any sense. Except the one where he’s insanely jealous of Walt for getting to hug Ray.  
Which is ridiculous. why would he want to hug his tinker? Brad’s life fucking sucks.

–

All in all, he’s thinking that Ray was a pretty good investment, three months in.  
That is, until he starts getting sick. The bot version of sick anyway.  
Ray will start working on one thing, then suddenly, he’ll drop that- almost literally- in one case he was hunched over the exhaust valve he was holding, when he jerked straight up, artificial spine ramrod straight and went to sit in the corner.  
His shoulders were hunched in on themselves, his knees pressed to his chest arms crossed over them, his head down, in a weird form of supplication on them.  
The first time was the worst on Brad, even though it wasn’t nearly as bad for Ray. “Ray?” he’d asked, working to hide the worry in his voice.  
Ray’s head had jerked up, his eyes scanning the room, and Brad could almost see the realization dawn on him.  
“Must have got caught thinking about Poke’s lily ass fucking… well anything, That shit’ll make you quiver in fear like a little girl.”  
In retrospect, it hadn’t really been that funny, but maybe Brad was a little hysterical.  
Maybe, he’d thought, maybe it had been a one-off. Like a backfire that Ray could fix.  
But the second and third time, Brad went from worried to furiously panicked quicker than the new Indyhovers went to 60, so he called Tim.  
Timothy Bryan was the best bot specialist to ever be de-licensed. The licensing board didn’t appreciate being told that bots required regular maintenance, beyond what their creators implanted. He was the first to tell them that bots had rights, and even though they had circuitry for brains and electricity for blood, they still deserved to be happy.  
They’d told him that robots couldn’t be happy.  
Tim had told them that their heads were so far up their asses that they would never be able to tell that robots, in many ways that they would never understand, were just like people.  
They’d taken his license away for that one.  
But people like Brad, Nate and Poke (of whom there are quite a few) still call him “Doc” when they need a bot serviced. It was technically illegal, but since the Department of Robot/Human Affairs didn’t really recognize that bots needed regular maintenance and care by a professional, they couldn’t really do anything.  
Not that they’d ever know. Every call was technically a social one.

–

Doc’s prognosis was odd to say the least. First of all, he came out of the back room a little flushed.

At first, Brad thought it was because he was angry. But then, when Doc got angry, it was a different flush.  
“I thought you, of all people would understand proper bot maintenance.” Tim said, disgust lacing his voice.  
Brad, to say the least, was blindsided. “How much care do Tinkerbots need?” It really couldn’t be that much, could it?  
“Tinker…” Tim sighed and began again. “Brad. He isn’t a Tinker. Tinkers don’t have skin. Tinkers don’t have humanly expressive eyes. Tinkers don’t glitch. Bradley Colbert, you did not buy a Tinkerbot, you fucking retard.” The good doctor seems almost disappointed in Brad.  
Brad can’t really form a response.  
“Tell you what,” Tim said, “Give it a week. If you don’t figure it out, or get it out of Ray by then, call me.” With that, former Doctor Timothy Bryan grabbed his black leather coat, shot one last glare at Brad and walked out of Brad’s shop.  
Ray had walked out at some point during the conversation, looking much better, but still a little flushed. Why was he flushing? Robots don’t have blood. They don’t feel embarrassment. What the fuck is going on?

–

“Ray, if you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’m going to call Doc Bryan and make him tell me.” It was only the next day, but fuck it. Ray already looks a little like he had before, like he isn’t eating enough or something and what the fuck.  
“I can’t, I…” Ray says. He starts to look embarrassed again, which is ridiculous. He tries to put all his worry and frustration aside, to calm Ray’s nerves, but it doesn’t quite work.  
“Ray, calm down,” Brad can be placating, okay? He is good at talking people off cliffs. Okay, so he isn’t. He puts his hands up, in the universal gesture of I-am-not-going-to-fuck-your-shit-up,-okay? And scoots closer to Ray.  
He grabs Ray by his shoulders and steers him back out of the shop, into the little kitchen. They end up leaning against the counter, side by side, in a parody of their usual comfort. “Okay. Ray. What the fuck? I can’t fix it if I don’t know what it is.” Ray smells really good, like some spicy cologne, but also of the shop- oil and lube and sweat mixed together. Brad shouldn’t be thinking this. Maybe they’re standing too close together. He tries to edge away without being noticed. He doesn’t get very far, because somehow, he’s hemmed in by the length of the counter and his proximity to the fridge.  
“Motherfucker. You don’t even know if it’s something you can fix.” Ray looks gleeful, but under it, he still looks thin and scared.  
“Doc Bryan seemed pretty sure that I could.” Brad says. He’s still perfectly willing to call Doc Bryan back, early or not. This is absurd, and fighting isn’t going to solve their problem any quicker. Brad hears Ray sigh. It’s almost creepy how human Ray’s actions are.  
“I’m not a Tinker.” Ray says, but offers nothing else. It’s weird, because Ray can normally go on for hours about nothing.  
Brad makes a face at him. “Doc Bryan told me as much.” He tries to put on a face that tells Ray that Brad is trustworthy, that he can tell him. He’ll only judge him a little, really.  
Ray looks at him with his stupid liquid brown eyes. He licks his bottom lip before catching it between his teeth and worrying it a little. Brad can’t help watching it happen. He doesn’t want to be constantly creeping on his not-Tinkerbot, but he is. He does.  
“Yeah, so.” Ray starts. He licks his bottom lip again. He really needs to stop that, it’s not doing anything except causing Brad to lose his mind. And then Ray kisses him.  
The kiss is chaste, Ray’s mouth is barely open and Brad’s not at all, but Ray’s bottom lip is still wet from where he’d licked it. It drags and catches in the brief span of the kiss, and when it’s over, Ray’s simulated breath cools Brad’s mouth where it had been. He licks his lips, chasing Ray’s taste. Robots shouldn’t taste this good, Brad thinks. But then, he really doesn’t have much experience with robots. Maybe they do.  
Ray’s eyes track the moment, hooded and hot at once. Then it dawns on him. “You’re not a Tinker,” he says. Duh, Brad. Way to state the obvious.  
“No.” Ray says. It looks like he’s willing Brad to understand. Maybe it works.  
“So Doc Bryan was flushing when he came out of your room yesterday,” he says, conclusive of something, but of what he doesn’t have a fucking clue.  
“He was totally embarrassed, dude.” Ray giggles.  
“Not a mind reader.” What exactly did Doc Bryan do yesterday?  
“Well, bots like me, we uh… we require… maintenance of a sort- a certain type of attention, if you will.” Brad waits for him to continue, but Ray is being deliberately obtuse. It dawns on him what happened.  
“You defiled Doc Bryan.” Brad concludes. It’s almost an accusation.  
“In a way. Mostly, he defiled me.” Ray leers.  
“You didn’t exactly come with a ‘Service your robot regularly’ sign, Ray. You couldn’t have said anything?”  
“I am a shy and retiring flower, Bradley Colbert,” Ray mocks sounding affronted. “I couldn’t just up and say ‘Master, homes, there was a flaw in your initial analysis, please reconsider touching my dick.’”  
“Did it occur to your hick-programmed brain that I didn’t realize that you had a dick- and that I thought that creeping on my Tinkerbot was a little weird?” It’s not much of a defense, but it has the plus side of being, hey, true.  
“Did it occur to you that no Tinkerbot ever made has had skin?” Ray looks like he doubts Brad’s intelligence.  
“Wait, if you needed… help so badly that you got sick, and you wouldn’t tell me, which I still can’t really understand, you addlepated hunk of wire, why didn’t you go to Walt?” He had other options, right?  
“I can’t really,” Ray considers this thought. “I guess I could, if Walter were a real person and not Nate’s sexbot. Sexbot/sexbot sex, while it would be fucking hot, because my dear Walter is possessed of a very pretty tongue, doesn’t quite cover it. I don’t know what it is, dude. I think it has something to do with pheromones?”  
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”  
“Nothing humans have ever done really makes sense, if you think about it.” Ray says. “Like, if people wanted sex, why couldn’t they just ask other people, instead of making robots for people to have sex with. How does this race even survive?”  
“Well, there are inbred hicks who, for lack of a better purpose, fuck without a second thought of the consequences and have more inbred babies.” Brad shrugs. This is pretty much par for the course. “Why can’t you just buy a prostitute?”  
“You really don’t know anything about sexbots, do you?” Ray sounds fond, which is weird.  
“Not really.” Brad hates admitting weakness, but here, he really has no experience whatsoever. He hadn’t really been looking into getting a bot at all, and then he’d only wanted a Tinker. And then he’d ended up with a sexbot. His life is pretty ridiculous.  
“We’re like ducklings. We open our eyes, and we ‘bond’ with the first person we see. You’re stuck with me,” Ray shrugs.  
“So you imprinted on me. Like a baby duck.” Brad is more than mildly amused by this. Maybe he shouldn’t be, but he really can’t help it.  
“Or a chicken. Which is more appropriate.”  
“I did wonder what you’d taste like.” Brad says, completely serious.  
Ray looks alarmed. “No. You can’t cook me. I’m not really a chicken. Do I have to school you again on the difference between similes and reality? Because I can, Brad. I can even use the small words, so I know that you’ll under—“ Brad kisses him. He’s going to relish being able to shut Ray up this way for a very long time. “Oh,” Ray says, a little breathless.

–

Brad hadn’t let himself think about Ray like this, mostly because he hadn’t wanted to think about the weirdness that was people making sexbots- do they sweat? Do they get hard? If not, do they stay hard like dildos? What were the moral implications of having a talking, pretty much thinking dildo?- or, to be more honest, he’d started to think about it, promptly got derailed, creeped out, and vowed not to think about it ever again.  
But this. This isn’t thinking about it, this is actually having it, and fuck if it isn’t just like having a real person. That was the goal, but Brad hadn’t thought that they’d be able to get this close.  
Ray is spread out, his skin shining with the robot version of sweat, his tattoos gleaming with it. Ray looks at him, his fucking eyes so hot that Brad can feel where he’s looking. He really hopes that he doesn’t have lasers in his eyes. That would suck.  
Ray’s dick is hard. It looks like a normal one, and Brad pokes it for science. Ray wheezes a laugh and “fuck you motherfucker” before Brad gets the chance to wrap his hand around it, and he chokes off, mid-word. He strokes up experimentally, and Ray throws his head back, groaning. Brad misses his eyes on him like a physical ache.  
He slides his hand down and tugs up again before lowering his head to taste the skin, licking up the side of the shaft. It’s slightly salty, which Brad is surprised by, not because it’s different than normal, but because it’s familiar. He’d thought that sex with a robot would be different, on some level, but really, it’s about heat and sweat and friction.  
Above him, Ray gasps, and Brad thinks lightly about Ray’s situational awareness being shit and also about mixing business and pleasure. He smiles, and wraps his mouth around Ray’s dick in earnest. Ray’s fingers slide around the back of Brad’s head, his right hand braced on the headboard for leverage, and Brad makes an encouraging noise, sucks a little harder.  
Ray’s fingernails scratch Brad’s scalp as Ray’s hips lift off the bed. Brad opens his mouth a little more, obligingly, and Ray does his level best to fuck Brad’s throat. Ray whimpers a little, which is a little undignified but also a lot of fucking hot.  
Ray makes a broken noise when Brad pulls off, and another when Brad bites Ray’s hip.  
“Fucking fuck fuck you shitfaced dickhead motherfucker,” Ray says. “What the fuck, homes, please continue with my dick in your throat or I will murder you in your sleep.” Brad laughs, his breath huffing against Ray’s stomach, making the nerve circuits quiver.  
“Is that what you want?” Brad says into Ray’s tattoo.  
“Why are you always asking me what the fuck I want? I am programmed to want what you want. Whatever you want to do, I am fucking cool with, okay? Just please.” Brad grabs his chin to get Ray’s attention.  
“What.” Brad licks into Ray’s open mouth. “Do. You.” Again. “Want?”  
“Fuck, Brad.” Ray sucks in air like he’s dying. “I can’t…”  
“I want you to tell me. Everything.” Brad is almost growling right up against Ray’s throat and he can feel the way that Ray shivers with it.  
“I want.” Brad bites his shoulder encouragingly. “Fuck, Brad. I want everything. I know, I can’t, but fuck. I want you to fuck me, and then, after you’ve come in me, I want to suck your dick until you’re hard again, and have you fuck me again.” Apparently, robots can read minds.  
“Ray,” Brad chokes out, half-broken, like Ray’s words are actual caresses. He gathers himself; he feels like he’s shaking apart, that his bones could vibrate out of his body and Ray would be there to put them back again. He takes a deep breath that smells like Ray and the shop, and weirdly enough, it grounds him enough to say “What else?” even though he isn’t sure he can handle more of Ray’s voice. He wants it though, to crack and slide apart and still feel Ray, warm and solid beneath him.  
“Robots don’t have gag reflexes, and I don’t really have to breathe, so I give awesome blowjobs, Brad. I want to swallow your dick as far as physically possible, and maybe a little farther, and I want you to pull my hair. I don’t know why I have sensors in my scalp, but I do, Brad, and I want you to pull my hair while you fuck my throat. I want to swallow it, the first time.” Brad can’t help but choke on his breath. He’s so close, and they haven’t done anything, but fuck. Brad starts mentally cataloguing motorcycle parts, just to calm himself down.  
But eventually, I want you to come on my face, Brad. I want to know that I smell like you, even after days and days- I want to smell like you even after I clean myself off, and work in the shop, Brad. I’ll know I still smell like you, even though no one else can tell. I’ll stay hard for hours, Brad. And the way you lean over a bike won’t help any. Do you know how fucking hot you are, straddling a bike? Your face changes, Brad, and for once, I want to be the reason that your face looks blissed out like that.  
He’s sure his face looks like that now, but Ray can’t know, so Brad looks up, into his face. “Brad, please. All of this is good, I promise, but I need-“ Ray cuts off, his synthetic voice breaking in a very realistic manner. Brad is about to fuck a sexbot. In fact, the only long term, committed relationship he’s wanted since Jenny broke up with him six years ago is with a sexbot. At least the sex will always be good.  
“Brad. Shitfuck, Brad. I need you to fuck me right now. If your dick is not in my ass in less than ten seconds, I will permanently remove it.” Ray’s cheeks are pink and his hair is sticking to his forehead. His eyes are bright and vaguely terrifying, but Brad thinks he’s never seen more beautiful. It hurts him to pull away, but he does.  
Brad edges over, to reach inside the drawer under his bed for the lube. Ray is in the middle of saying “no, not what I said, I said—fuck me,” when he presses his fingers in. This part, at least, is much easier than human sex. He spreads Ray’s thighs wider, tugging his leg one-handed so it drapes around Brad’s hip.  
Ray seems to open up around his fingers, hot and clenching and damnit fuck. There may come a time that Brad will want to fuck Ray without stretching him first, but that day won’t be any day soon.  
“You don’t have to,” Ray starts, but breaks off in a moan when Brad twists his fingers- they included a significant part of the male anatomy, at least- and shoves himself farther down on Brad’s fingers. “Point made, Brad. Fuck! Do not make me beg for you to put your dick in me. It won’t be pretty, I promise you.” Brad kisses Ray’s shoulder, where he’d bitten earlier; licking the tender spot and Ray makes a sound that sounds like a keen. Brad won’t hold him to it later, though.  
“I want to make you beg for me,” Ray huffs out a breathless chuckle and Brad continues, “But right now, the landscape is more focused.” He slides his fingers out of Ray, and Ray almost sobs. Brad shushes him, mouth right up against his skin. Brad pulls Ray’s other leg around by the back of his thigh, his fingers digging into the slick skin and catching on the short hairs.  
Ray urges him closer with every line in his body, and Brad has to give in. Ray gasps in hiccups of breath when Brad presses in close, finally, with his dick. It sounds like Ray is dry sobbing by the time that Brad is all the way in, and Brad has to have this minute to collect himself. To get used to the way that Ray stretches around him, so hot, and pulling him in.  
Ray’s back is arched, and his legs are wrapped around Brad’s hips, trying to pull him in farther. Brad pushes his forehead into the middle of Ray’s chest, right up against his shitty tattoos, and slides his hand around to press in the middle of his back to keep him there, just like that, goddamnit, Ray. He’s not sure whether he’s thinking it or actually mumbling into the skin of Ray’s ribs, but at this point it doesn’t matter.  
Ray scratches into the skin at the base of Brad’s neck, and he looks up, into Ray’s lopsided, dopey grin. “Get up here,” Ray says, and his voice is lower, scratchier with lust and Brad licks the taste out of his mouth. Ray moves against him, pressing impossibly closer before pulling away. Brad bites at his bottom lip in punishment.  
“No no. You can have the next one.” He says, the words sliding against Ray’s mouth. He feels like he’s shaking apart again, this time from the heat of Ray’s body instead of his words.  
“Then, fucking move.” Ray commands, punctuating each word with a thrust down, onto Brad’s dick.  
So he does. He loses himself in the heat of Ray’s body, the way he arches and moans, the way that Brad knows that he’ll never get enough of this, this, whatever it is, that’s not just really really good sex, but sex with Ray. And fuck, Ray might be programmed to be responsive, but Ray is his, yes in the legal way, but that’s not what matters. Ray will be his because of the bite mark high up on his neck that Brad is working on, because of the way he’ll look at Brad later, and Brad will close the shop early, just so he can fuck Ray up against the parts counter.  
But right now, right now, Ray’s mouth is bitten red and open. He wonders what kind of noise Ray makes when he comes. Brad kisses his way along his jaw to say into Ray’s ear “Can you come for me, Ray?” at the same time that he wraps his hand around Ray’s dick, tugs up sharply.  
Ray makes a sound halfway between a word and a whimper and Brad lets his orgasm break him apart. He hopes that Ray will want to pick up the pieces.

–

“Wait, what is it exactly that sexbots need?” Brad asks, because Ray is wrapped around him like an octopus but he’s awake.  
“REM sleep, Brad, if you don’t get it, you’d get sick, stop eating, go crazy, right?” Brad nods, because those are the basics of it, yeah. “Well, it’s kind of like that, except with pheromones.” And Brad isn’t going to ask how they designed robots to need pheromones, which- sexbot, still fucking weird- but okay. “Sleep, Brad,” Ray says. And he does.


	2. The Black ,the Gray, and the White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time that Brad bought a sexbot and it was super jealous of Nate? Here's why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel of sorts, but some events are concurrent with events that happen in But I Ain't That Lonely Yet

Nate is going to kill his sisters. Okay, he’s not going to kill them, but he’s going to give them a serious talking to because getting him a sexbot for his birthday? So not on. This is just the kind of shit his sisters would pull, too-- buying him a sexbot because he “doesn't get laid enough, dear Nathaniel,”  
Nate looks at it, sweet faced with longish light brown hair that would turn blond in the sun and a mouth that looks like it can turn wicked at a moment's notice. At least they chose well.  
He looks it up and down, already thinking in terms of person more than sexbot. He pulls the arm up, and sees the model number on the inside of his arm. It says WAL and Nate has always liked the name Walt, so why not. He presses the button and Walt’s eyes come open. They’re blue, and for some reason that’s not what Nate expected, and it throws him off. This sexbot is very pretty, which upon further reflection, is kind of the point, but they really outdid themselves.  
“Hello,” Nate says out of habit, still stunned by how unexpectedly pretty this thing is.  
“Hello,” it says. His - its - voice is soft, and Nate hears traces of an accent. What is this? How did they program it to be vaguely southern? Why did his sisters choose this?  
The more importantly why did he turn it on? Why isn’t he freaked out, why why why didn’t he return it?  
He touches Walt’s face and watches it watch him with its freakishly human eyes. “Did you come with a name?” He asks, because if he gets into the habit of referring to him as Walt in his head, and he’s got another name, it’s just going to make things awkward.  
“No,” he says, “it’s my owner’s job to name me.”  
“Oh,” Nate breathes, because that’s him, and this was a bad idea. He’s got someone, a robot, who is dependent upon him for everything. He didn’t want children, and this is exactly why. This is morally dubious, because Walt is programmed to want him, but Nate just wants. “Your name is Walt, then.”  
“Walt,” he says, learning the sound. “What is your name?” he asks. Nate internally snickers that he’s only asking so that he’ll have something to scream when he’s wrapped around Nate’s cock. He shoves that part of him away.  
“My name is Nate,” he answers.  
Walt braced himself out of the box and pressed his mouth to Nate’s. It wasn’t the greatest kiss: Nate wasn’t prepared, and he was caught up in the thought of kissing something that wasn’t technically alive which squicked him out a little. But it wasn’t terrible. The second was better anyway.  
\--  
After the first kiss, it’s stupidly easy to fall into the slide of kissing Walt, his tongue is warm and weirdly talented- he is programmed for this, after all, and Nate feels weird that he still wants to do this. He kind of wonders what the rules of consent are for robots programmed for sex.  
He ignores it for now, in favor of Walt’s warm mouth around his dick, his hands petting his thighs, and the tiny mewling noises he makes when Nate remembers that he doesn’t actually have to hold back.  
He does, he wants to make this good for Walt, he really does, and not just because he’s programmed to want what Nate wants. This is, for all intents and purposes, his lover, and he gets off on his partner getting off more than anything touching his dick.  
\--  
Walt is cruel and evil and perfect. His mouth is hot and tight and sweet for about twelve seconds before he’s gone and Nate is being tucked back into his pants and shoved out the door.  
He doesn’t understand what just happened. He said that he needed to go to Brad’s for something- he can’t even remember now, but it probably has something to do with the book in his hands, when Walt unceremoniously goes down on him. It’s embarrassing that he got that worked up in the small space of time that Walt was touching him, but it’s not his fault that his life partner is a sexbot and therefore a master of all things sex. It is totally not his fault. He likes to take advantage of it upon occasion.  
Anyway, he goes to Brad’s because he figures that he needs to give him this book- it’s coming back to him now that he’s not distracted by Walt’s fucking mouth- when he meets Ray. His eyes are dark and he’s small but Nate can tell that he could totally hold his own against Brad if he wanted.  
They’re probably having stupid amounts of sex.  
Ray glares at him like he’s out to steal Brad’s probably very tarnished virtue.  
So maybe they’re not having sex. Yet. It is only a matter of time, because Brad’s eyes are a weird mixture of burning and fond, and he is in very deep shit. Very deep indeed.  
\--  
Walt has closed up the shop by the time he gets back, and Nate is going to have to say something about them needing to be open for business. He looks around for Walt, because he is up to something, and he finds him in the bedroom. His pants are on the floor, and he's pushing three fingers in himself already, moaning like he's putting on a show (he is). He's arching into his fingers, Nate can see, already knows, but he can see how much he loves this- and maybe that's the programming talking, but Nate thinks that if Walt were an actual person with actual feelings, this could happen anyway. Walt has personality- he does things for Nate before Nate realizes they need to be done, he's wry and sweet and all kinds of badass. One time, Walt roundhouse kicked a guy who tried to rob the store. The poor guy.  
But anyway, Walt is fingering himself open, his breaths hitching with how it's good and not enough at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Team:Humvee during 2011's HBO War-A-Thon on Tumblr. Originally posted at my lj, but, I figured that since I could make chaptered fic more easily here, I should upload it.


End file.
